


Felicity’s Apology

by SteelRigged



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Women, Canon Jewish Character, Cat Burglars, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Female Jewish Character, Finished, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heist, High Holy Days, Humor, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Humor, Like an actual plot with real conflict and stakes., Plot, Plot Twists, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, This has plot, This is a finished work, Women Being Awesome, Yiddish, art heist, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 17,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelRigged/pseuds/SteelRigged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity has been hiding her feelings about Havenrock all summer. But things come to a head when she declares that she's going "to do repentance right" this year. No phones, no food, no computers. The team will have to hunt down a debonair jewel thief without her. Little do they know, the cat burglar has his eye on Felicity.</p><p>This is a finished work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Going to Catch this Guy?

**Author's Note:**

> I am Jewish and this is how I think Felicity would actually practice her Judaism. I will explain any Hebrew or Yiddish words I use in the end notes of each chapter. Please let me know if I miss one (or three). 
> 
> Also, I know this isn't the classic, Thomas Blake, Catman. I like mine better. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

"We going to catch this guy tonight Mr. Mayor?" Commissioner Lance asked.

"I hope so Commissioner," Oliver answered. "I'm tired of apologizing to socialites whose earrings were stolen."

"My team is in place. Yours?" Lance raised an eyebrow at Oliver.

"Don't worry about us." 

One of the museum docents waived at Oliver from across the room. It was time for him to open the new exhibit. He would smile for the cameras and thank the Gotham City Museum delegation for the generously lending part of it's Hatsheput collection. 

"I'm not worried. I want to see how you manage being in two places at once Mr. Mayor. Do you have the green leather on under that tux?"

Oliver glared at Lance, but Thea interrupted them before he could do anything more inappropriate.

"Time to cut the ribbon."

Oliver gave a short nod of acknowledgement and flattened the front of his jacket. "If you will excuse me." He headed into the crowd, smiling and shaking hands as he crossed the room.

Lance offered Thea his arm. "I have to say Thea, you've really taken to being the Lady and of the Mayor's office."

"What _is_ the official title?" Thea wondered taking Lance's arm.

"First Hostess?"

"No."

There was smattering of applause as Oliver stepped up to the front of the room. Then there was screaming. 

"My Diamonds! My Diamonds are gone!" The socialite clutched at her breast and shrieked. 

"I guess that's our cue." Lance said to Thea. He dropped her arm and headed toward the victim. An undercover police woman was already at her side.

"Everybody please stay calm!" Oliver ordered. The crowed shuffled about nervously. 

"Oh my god my bracelet! My ruby bracelet!" Another woman cried out. 

Thea pressed at the Comm in her ear. "Overwatch, give us something to work with."

"He's around 5'11, dark hair, in a tux, and I didn't get any clear pictures of his face." Felicity said over the mike. "It's like he knew where all the cameras were. Oh! Oh, no."

"On it," Oliver said, turning away from the room and striding into the new exhibit. 

In the center of the dark room was a spotlight. It was proudly highlighting an empty display case. 

"The jewels are gone," Oliver said into his link frustrated. "Spartan?" he asked.

"5'11, dark hair, and in a tux describes describes 33 people in this room. We could ask Lance to hold them?"

"Do it."

Oliver returned to the main hall. He saw Diggle conferring with Lance, and Lance talking into his radio. The uniforms and plain clothes in the room started pulling out all the men that fit the description. They cleared everyone else from the room.

Within 10 minutes there were 30 dark haired, tallish men waiting to be frisked. 

"We're 3 short." Oliver said.

Diggle did a quick head count and cursed under his breath. "How did he get away again?"


	2. We Going to Catch this Guy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is taking a day off the grid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I define any Hebrew or Yiddish words I use at the end of the chapters.

Thea called Felicity around eleven the next morning. "This time we are running the sting."

She was plotting shenanigans. Felicity was easy to enlist these days; she was droopy around the edges and desperate for distractions. 

"Are we?" Felicity replied, already mostly sold on the idea.

“It will be a girl's night. We'll get dressed up, put on some bling, hang out some place fancy.”

“How is that a sting?” Felicity asked. 

“Our cat burglar has been stealing from all the other socialites! He seems to think he’s Cary Grant. And I want an excuse to go shopping with you.”

“How can I argue with that logic?” Felicity said and Thea could hear her smile. “Especially when you throw in a free Hitchcock reference.”

“Awesome! There’s a hip gallery opening tonight in the Glades and I think it's exactly the type of event he would hit. It'll be a much younger crowd than the museum gala.”

“I can’t tonight.”

“Of course you can!" Thea wondered for a moment if Oliver had done something. 

“It’s Kol Nidre,” Felicity said. 

“Coal knit-ray?”

“It’s a Jewish holiday, a big one, and I will be at services tonight and all day tomorrow. For Yom Kippur.”

“Okay.” Thea tried to hide her disappointment. “That’s cool. I’ll just go without a wing woman. I'll text you everything you’re missing. You can feel the FOMO.”

“I won’t have my phone,” Felicity said.

“You always have your phone.” 

“I won’t this year. I’m doing it right. No phones. No computers. No food.”

“What kind of holiday is this?”

“It’s the day of atonement. We apologize for everything we did wrong in the past year and we get forgiven.”

“Why does that include no phones? Or no food? And what have you done wrong?”

“Well fasting is a sign of repentance, it’s a small way to experience the suffering of those you’ve hurt,” Felicity said. 

Thea thought that explanation sounded rehearsed.

“And phones are out because you don’t start a fire on the Sabbath,” Felicity continued.

“That makes no sense.” 

Felicity sighed. “Electricity is a form of fire. No electricity means no phone or computer.” 

“Harsh.”

Felicity snorted. “The day is supposed to afflict your soul, turning everything off afflicts mine.”

“Do you need a buddy?”

“No,” Felicity said, sounding amused. “But, thanks for offering.”

“We could still go shopping though, right? Church dresses aren’t my normal thing but I received the full Moira Queen training. We could throw in new shoes and mani-pedis and get the full Sunday salon package, even if it is Tuesday.”

“Nope. No salon hair, or leather shoes, or makeup, or fancy clothes...it’s the anti-luxury holiday.”

“Can’t you bend the rules?” Thea fidgeted with her arrows.

“No. Not today.”

“But, Felicity,” Thea pouted, “bending the rules is, like, _your thing._ You hate rules.”

“I don’t hate rules,” Felicity waffled. “Not in principle.”

“You like the rules in code. The rules that you write. You don’t follow other people’s rules. That's, like, the definition of _hacker._ It's what we have in common" 

“I can follow the rules when I need to.”

“And you need to?” 

Thea waited for an answer, but Felicity's side of the call had gone dead. 

The pause got uncomfortable “Thea,” Felicity said, her voice brusque. “I’m not going to explain any more to you. All you need to know is that I’m off the grid from now until sunset tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you” Thea didn’t know what to say next. “Have a happy atonement?”

There was another snort of amusement.

Thea swallowed in relief.

“I’ll try,” Felicity sighed. It wasn’t her amused sigh, but a long heavy, world weary sigh instead. Thea’s brow wrinkled in concern. Felicity seemed to catch Thea’s change in mood, even though the phone.

“Hey, um, why don’t we dress up and try and lure this catman out, like, on Saturday night? That’d be fun right?”

“Yeah. That’d be fun.” There was a hair’s breadth of a pause. “Catman?” Thea asked.

“Uggh, I’m hanging up now. Bye.”

>>——>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kol Nidre:** All vows. An Aramaic prayer annulling vows made before God, sung by Jews at the opening of the Day of Atonement service on the eve of Yom Kippur. Also commonly refers to the entire Yom Kippur evening services.
> 
>  **Yom Kippur:** The Day of Atonement, is the holiest day of the year in Judaism.Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jewish people traditionally observe this holy day with an approximate 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.


	3. If There's a Bomb Threat Shouldn't We Do Something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bomb threat every year, but there's never actually a bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I define any Hebrew or Yiddish words I use at the end of the chapter.

Thea took out her frustrations on the training dummies. Maybe it was less frustration than worry. Though she couldn’t name what was bothering her. Maybe she was just grumpy because Felicity had turned her down. That was super shallow. She couldn’t be upset at Felicity for celebrating her holiday. 

Back when the wedding was still on, Felicity had explained chuppas and ketubahs and all sorts of nifty Jewish wedding traditions. She’d asked Thea to hold up one corner of the wedding canopy. She’d explained that you picked people for each corner who would help you hold-up your marriage for the rest of your life. Thea had been touched. She’d accepted the job whole heartedly. She hadn’t really given it up. She was convinced that Oliver and Felicity were end-game, and she’d go down with her ship if she had to. Thea could hold-up her end, even when everyone else couldn’t.

Digg and Oliver got back to the lair before she’d finished her workout. Oliver took one at her face and narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

“Speedy?” he asked warily.

Thea snapped out a set of three round-house kicks (low, middle, high) before turning to face the boys.

“Felicity will not be joining us tonight,” Thea reported. 

Oliver’s face fell. Slightly. Just a dip at the corner of his mouth as he put up his bow. It broke Thea’s heart. 

“She will not have her phone either,” Thea continued and Oliver’s frown deepened. “It’s some Jewish apology holiday and she says no computers until sundown tomorrow. Yum Keepers?”

“It’s Yom Kippur,” Oliver said with a grimace. “I should have known that.” 

“Late this year, isn’t it?” Dig offered, unzipping his duffel.

“You both know about this holiday?” Thea asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s the holiest day in the Jewish calendar,” Oliver explained. He looked at the floor and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Felicity and I went to services in Ivy Town last year.” 

“Like Easter?” Thea asked.

"It's hard to compare." Oliver scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“I always got the impression that it was like all of Lent rolled up into 24 hours,” Digg offered, sitting on the edge of the table.

Thea tilted her head to the side and stared at him.

“Lived in New York in my 20s,” Digg replied with a smirk. “Picked some things up through osmosis.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Wanna hear my Yiddish? Putz, schmuck, shmear, bagel, blintz, rugelach, challah, latkes, schmendrick, shiksa, shyster, meshuga, kosher, kugel, knish--”

“I always liked chutzpah,” Oliver said wistfully.

“Oy Gevalt,” Digg said with a laugh, “that’s so predictable.”

“All you know are foods and insults!” Oliver held out his arm, his hand palm up and pleading.

Digg pursed his fingers together and let his hand nod up and down. “You mean the very heart and essence of the language.”

“That’s your New York osmosis?”

“You judging me boychick?” Digg asked cocking his head and squaring his shoulders. “You’re the one that forgot Yom Kippur.” 

Diggle said it teasingly, but Oliver winced. It wasn’t much movement, but Thea saw it. Digg saw it, too. 

“Ha Ha Ha. You are both so clever,” Thea said, stepping between John and Oliver. Digg met her eyes. Oliver didn’t “Why don’t you make fun of me later. Right now we can figure out how we’re going to pull this off without Felicity.”

The central computer screen started blinking, Felicity’s name seemed to conjured it awake. Oliver leaned over to read the alert. 

“There’s been a bomb threat against the Temple,” Oliver said. “The SCPD doesn’t thinks it’s credible.” Oliver frowned. “I’m going to call Lance.”

Digg sighed and started rifling through his bag, sorting out weapons that needed to be cleaned.

“If there’s a bomb threat, shouldn’t we all be rushing out to, you know, do something?” Thea asked.

“When I worked in private security, we covered Yom Kippur bomb threats every year,” Digg replied. “Mostly they are just assholes and bigots that want to disrupting the service. The threat forces them to clear the building and wastes everyone's time. It’s just harassment.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Some people are really possessive about God. They don’t seem to think there’s enough love to go around.”

Oliver walked back. He was fidgety. He was tapping his phone against his thigh and then against the palm of his hand. 

“Lance says the bomb threat happens every year but that there’s never actually been a bomb. He’s got extra security on sight, but he’s more worried about the cat burglar. Said the thefts were getting embarrassing.” 

Oliver looked at his phone. He was probably thinking about texting Felicity. Who didn’t have her phone. He put the phone in his back pocket. He fidgeted; rubbed his thumb against his nocking callus and gritted his teeth. Thea wasn't sure he knew he was doing it. 

Thea looked at Digg. They had a moment of silent conversation. Thea twisted her mouth into a pout. Digg rolled his eyes. 

“You know, Oliver,” Digg said with a sigh. “Thea and I can handle this cat burglar by ourselves. All the reports we’ve gotten are that he’s slick but not violent.”

“And really,” Thea added, “I _do_ have to go out in public without my brother from time to time. Worst result is that I have to buy new jewelry. I can cope with that.”

Oliver smiled tightly at both of them. “It’s probably just a prank.” 

“Probably,” Digg agreed.

“I’m sure Lance had someone sweep the building,” Oliver brushed over the room with his hand.

“Someone,” Digg agreed again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’ll think I’m being overprotective.” 

“Yep,” Digg said, “and she’d probably be right.”

There was tense silence. Digg waited stoically for Oliver to say something else. His feet were wide and his weight was settled into an immovable stance. 

Oliver, meanwhile, was wound tight. His body taut and quivering. Every muscle waiting to spring into action. It was obvious what Oliver wanted to do. It was also obvious that he wanted Digg to tell him it was a good idea. Digg didn’t seem likely to do that. 

Thea knew that Oliver and Felicity had been professional since the break up. She decided on the spot that Oliver had managed that trick by checking everything with Digg. John had been his litmus test of what was appropriate _just friends_ behavior, and what was inappropriate _you're becoming a stalker_ behavior. 

Oliver wanted to check on Felicity.

Digg wasn’t against that, but he wasn’t going to act like it was necessary. He wasn’t going to give Oliver cover. And Oliver, Thea’s coward of a brother, was stuck. 

Maybe he thought Felicity would glare at him. 

“Oh my God, it’s a bomb threat!” Thea said at last. “Just go already!”

Oliver gave her a relieved smile and a short nod. He bounded off the computer the dais, not bothering with the steps. Digg raised an eyebrow at Oliver’s back and then gave Thea some serious side-eye. She looked back at him innocently. He sighed, resigned.

“You are going to have to stop meddling,” Digg said. “They have to come together on their own, there isn’t a matchmaker alive that can force it to happen.” 

“You had your turn. Now I get mine.”

>>——>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chuppah:** a canopy under which a Jewish couple stand during their wedding ceremony.  
>  **Ketubah:** a ritual Jewish prenuptial agreement. It is considered an integral part of a traditional Jewish marriage, and outlines the rights and responsibilities of the groom, in relation to the bride.  
>  **Putz:** Penis. Mostly used as term of contempt for a fool or an easy mark.  
>  **Schmuck:** Penis, more vulgar than putz. Often used as an insulting word for a self-made fool.  
>  **Shmear:** a slice of soft cheese  
>  **Bagel:** a bread product, shaped into a ring.  
>  **Blintz:** a type of filled crepe.  
>  **Rugelach:** a rolled cookie  
>  **Challah:** a braided white bread  
>  **Latkes:** fried potato pancake.  
>  **Schmendrick:** A jerk, a stupid person.  
>  **Shiksa:** a non-jewish woman who tempts a man away from the religion.  
>  **Shyster:** a non-jewish man who tempts a woman away from the religion, also a trickster, or liar.  
>  **Meshuga:** crazy  
>  **Kosher:** following the jewish laws related to food.  
>  **Kugel:** Kugel is a baked pudding or casserole, most commonly made from egg noodles or potato.  
>  **Knish:** an Eastern European snack food consisting of a filling covered with dough that is either baked, grilled, or deep fried.  
>  **Chutzpah:** sass, bravery, moxie.  
>  **Oy Gevalt:** an expletive expressing frustration, among other things.  
>  **Boychick:** an Americanism, meaning a cute little boy.


	4. Where's Your Ticket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver tires to crash the Yom Kippur Service. People Notice. He really should have planned for gossipy older ladies. They ran every religious function, everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of Yiddish in this chapter. You don't have to understand it. Oliver doesn't.

The late afternoon sun followed Oliver through the door. He’d inspected the grounds already. He hadn’t seen any suspicious packages hiding in the bushes. He’d also decided that the officers on duty weren’t incompetent. That left the inside of the building to eyeball. There were plenty of people around. He planned on blending in with the crowd to get through the door. Then he could slip away, sweep the place for bombs, and get out. Felicity might not even know that he was there. 

Of course, it didn’t work like that. 

There was a gauntlet of greeters and check-in tables. A little old lady with a name tag that said "Gerta Rosenthal" pushed a kippa and a prayer book into his hands as she looked him up and down appraisingly. 

“What a good tzutik! You read the memo about no heavy coats or big bags. I can’t tell you how many people didn’t. You have your ticket or do you need to pick it up?”

“Ticket?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You look familiar, but I’m having trouble placing you. Are you Melvin’s boy?”

A different greeter, one holding a stack of programs turned toward them. She handed him a program. Well, actually, she used it to wedge herself between Oliver and Gerta. He assumed she was being protective of the older woman.

“Here you go,” she said. She was his mother’s age. The age his mother would have been. She was wearing an ecru suit Moira would have admired, too. Her name tag said "Beverly." No last name needed. He saw the moment of recognition hit her face.

“Mr. Queen! I’m surprised to see you tonight. I mean we all figured you come to the auction, but that’s not for a few days yet.”

“Queen? Queen?” Gerta mumbled behind Beverly. “Whose Queen?” 

“The mayor,” Beverly said to Gerta, who frowned. She was still confused. Beverly leaned in and said conspiratorially “You know, Felicity’s macher. The one who gives her such tsuris, but who she can’t stop kvelling about.”

“Ohhhh,” Gerta said. “The shamus?”

“No-no-no, the shamus is mishpocha, her mother’s man. This is the berye farkoyfer that stood on the car during the riot and gave such a spiel, like he was the badchan at a wedding with too many shikkers. Her shlimazel shtarker.” 

“Oooooooh,” Gerta said. She looked him up and down again. Oliver tied his best to look humble and friendly. He had no idea what Beverly had said about him. Other than that he belonged to Felicity. Felicity's macher. He'd look up that word when he got home and make sure wasn't anything bad.

Gerta leaned toward Beverly. “He doesn’t have a ticket,” she whispered. 

They both looked at him disapprovingly. It dawned on him that he really should have planned for gossipy older ladies. They ran every religious function, everywhere.

“Come on, Mr. Queen let's go see what we can do,” Beverly said.

She took his arm and walked him toward a table with a white paper tablecloth. There were more ladies. They were handing out laminated name tags. 

“Not that we turn anyone away that wants to be here," Beverly chattered, "but normally the extra seats are for students that wander in at the last minute, or cases that need real tzedakah. Still, your family made such a generous donation to the fundraiser, and we all adore Felicity around here. She’s done amazing things with the classroom wi-fi.” 

Beverly said steering him toward the middle of the table. The part tagged _P-S._ “Diana!” she called, waving toward a woman working behind the _T-Z_ tag 

Diana was younger than either of the women he'd met so far. She was also heavily pregnant. She recognized Oliver right away and looked over at Beverly in surprise. Beverly smiled back. A big smile full of teeth. Oliver got the distinct impression that he was being shown off. 

“Diana,” Beverly said, “what happened to Felicity’s second ticket?”

Diana folded her hands across her belly and looked down her nose at both of them. “She told us to put it in the student pool.”

“Think we could give it to Mr. Queen, instead?”

Diana frowned and one hand started absently rubbing her belly. She ignored Beverly and looked at Oliver.

“I’m sorry,” Diana said, “but didn’t you two break up?

“He’s not here to make a scene,” Beverly said, before Oliver could answer. 

Diana didn’t seem convinced. “I don't see why _he_ should get her plus-one?” 

“He’s the _mayor._ And everyone deserves the chance to make amends today,” Beverly bumped him with her hip, “even nudnik goys.” Beverly gave Diana a pointed look. “It’s b’shert.

Diana sighed. She turned around and pulled an index card box off a short bookshelf and flipped through. After a moment she handed Beverly a laminated name tag that said “Smoak, Guest.” Beverly clipped it to his lapel. 

“There we go,” she said patting his chest. “Keep that where people can see it, so that we know who you belong to.” 

“Thank you” he said. He was ready to excuse himself and fade into the background. “Could you tell me where—

“The gallery is!?” 

He’d been planning to ask about the men’s room.

“Felicity’s done an amazing job,” Beverly continued. “You should definitely go see it. Just down that hallway to the left.”

“Okay. Yes.” Oliver said, curious. The Temple had a gallery? What had Felicity been doing? 

He walked down the hallway, counting doors: classroom, classroom, office. He twisted handles absently. They were all locked. All except the double doors at the end of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kippa:** a kind of skull cap, also called a yarmulke.  
>  **Tzutik:** An ambitious student.  
>  **Macher:** a big deal, an important person.  
>  **Tsuris:** serious troubles.  
>  **Kvelling:** praising, raving, beaming with pride and pleasure.  
>  **Shamus:** a detective.  
>  **Mishpocha:** family, not necessarily blood family.  
>  **Berye:** a virtuoso.  
>  **Farkofer:** a salesman.  
>  **Speil:** a speech, especially a sales pitch.  
>  **Badchan:** an emcee or event host.  
>  **Shikker:** drunks.  
>  **Shlimazel:** someone who is unlucky.  
>  **Shtarker:** A muscled man, the kind of guy you’d ask to move furniture. In this case a “hunk.”  
>  **Tzedakah:** charity.  
>  **Nudnik Goys:** know-nothing non-jew.  
>  **B’shert:** a predestined love


	5. When Did You Have the Time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn’t have to talk. She didn’t have to process her feelings with him. She’d organized a charity auction. That was a good thing. That was channeling her feelings in a positive direction. Didn’t that mean she was doing fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I translate and Hebrew or Yiddish words I use at the end.

The “gallery” was actually a linoleum clad social hall. That room, in every house of worship, that exists to host spaghetti-night fundraisers. There were small groups of chairs scattered in semicircles around the room. In front of each semicircle was a triangular column of cubicle wall. Hanging from the grey industrial felt were ornately framed works of art. Some of which Oliver recognized. 

He squinted at the one closest to him. It looked remarkably like a painting from and upstairs guest bedroom in Queen Manor. His mother had never particularly liked it, but it was a Picasso, and that impressed people. 

Oliver ran a finger over the card next to it. 

_“Untitled Pablo Picasso. Donated in honor of Moira Queen, for the benefit of the survivors of Havenrock. Please see the auction catalog for details of provenance”_

Havenrock. 

Felicity hadn’t said a word about the town. Not in the months it was just the two of them, working alone. Not when John came back. Not when Thea returned. 

He hadn’t wanted to push. It wasn’t her fault that Darhk had launched ballistic missiles at populated areas. She’d saved the most people possible. 

He knew she had to have feelings about it. It was Felicity. She felt. She was passionate about pens and ponytail holders. _(Pilot not Bic. Snagless and black.)_ But she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. And yes, that had hurt. 

He wanted her friendship. He did. But his body didn’t seem to understand the new rules. He’d see her, standing at the computers in the lair, and his body would take a steps forward. The muscles of his chest and back would tense. His arms reached to hug her before his head caught up. It was visceral and frustrating and it happened _every damned time._

Oliver depended on his muscle memory. That’s how he managed to block punches before he completely realized they were coming. Short circuiting the slow process of analysis was integral to fighting. He had trained his body to act outside of thought, to maintain form and technique without active direction. In a fight, his mind floated between tactics, location, and team, while his body dodged and kicked and punched. He hadn't had to micro-manage that part in years. 

His body felt entitled to its instincts. It’s instinct was to pull Felicity close and keep her within arm’s reach. He’d never realized how possessive his biceps could be. 

Oliver ran his finger over the picture frame. He looked around. There were at least three other paintings in the room he recognized. 

He was going to have to debrief Thea. She knew something he didn’t. Being left out felt like a betrayal. 

He didn’t care about the paintings. He would have given Felicity everything here and more. But she hadn’t asked him. She’d asked Thea. And Thea should have known that he’d need to help, too. He could have moved paintings out of storage at least. Felicity wouldn’t have had to know. 

While considering what sibling crime he could accuse his sister of, Oliver found the spread of brochures in the center of the room. They were slick. Expensive. There was a lot of work put into them. Hours and hours, and days, and maybe weeks of work. He’d missed a lot. Looking at the room his brain was skipping like a corrupted song. Felicity must have spent every minute she wasn’t with him, or at work, thinking about Havenrock. 

Maybe he _should_ have pushed her to talk.

The door squeaked and slammed behind him. He turned and saw Felicity walking in. He was suddenly embarrassed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and swallowed against his dry mouth.

“Oliver what are you doing here?” Felicity asked.

“There was a bomb threat.”

“There’s always a bomb threat.”

“There wasn’t in Ivy Town.”

Felicity sucked in her lips. “Maybe there was,” she said. “We weren’t watching the police scanners.”

“I wanted to sweep the area. For everyone. Beverly said it was a full house.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Beverley, also, _very helpfully,_ let me know that you’d picked up my extra ticket, and that you were in the gallery and might need help finding a seat.”

“She didn’t need to pull you away from the service.”

“You don’t understand yentas.” Felicity rubbed her forehead, then looked around the room shyly. With a breath, she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “So have you swept the premises? Are you satisfied that there’s no bomb?”

“I kind of got distracted,” Oliver admitted. “Exactly how many paintings did Thea donate?”

“Six.” Felicity blushed. “It’s a fundraiser for Havenrock.”

“I saw that,” Oliver said. He tried to smooth out the furrow in his brow. He didn’t want any worry to show on his face. He waited. She didn’t add anything. Just like she hadn’t said anything all summer. He felt his brow furrowing again. 

“Why are they here?” he asked at last.

“Um, well, classes.” Felicity dropped her arms. She fidgeted, interlocking her fingers and stretching them out. “The sisterhood has been helping me, and they always need a bunch of little lectures and classes to keep people distracted on Yom Kippur, so nobody thinks too much about food, and there are a couple of different professors in the congregation, and the paintings are special, people were excited, and now we’re all going to give 20-30 minutes talks about art things.”

“You’re giving a lecture, too? You joined the sisterhood?” 

They’d gone to Temple twice in Ivy Town. Once on Rosh Hashana and once on Yom Kippur. The whole time, Felicity had rolled her eyes and cracked jokes about the “sisterhood mavens.” She’d leaned into him conspiratorially and pointed out the women who kept tabs on everyone in the community. She swore she’d never be like that.

“Those biddies,” she’d whispered, “are probably sizing us up as a breeding couple right now. Kill me if I ever turn into that.” 

“I think that’s the one that complimented my tuchas.” Oliver had whispered back. She’d had to bury her face into his arm to keep from laughing out loud. The memory made his pectorals twitch. 

He opened and closed his fists, rubbing the front of his left arm. He blinked took a deep breath. It stretched the hollow in his chest, but didn’t make the ache go away.

“I’m talking about math,” Felicity said. “Not any of the paintings. And yeah, I joined the sisterhood.”

“Felicity, why---” Oliver pressed his lips together and swallowed the emotions out of his voice. “When did you have time to put all this together?”

“We did it in bits and pieces, mostly at Saturday onegs.”

“You’ve been going to Saturday services?” Over the last four-and-something years Felicity had never gone to Saturday services. When she wanted a _Jewish Saturday,_ she’d meant bagels, lox, and whitefish for brunch. 

“Okay, now you listen to me--” Felicity held up her hand, index finger pointed at him. “You don’t need to know everything, Oliver. No more questions. Got it? Do your thing. Look around. I can’t stop you. But I don’t owe you any explanations. I’m going back for the rest of Kol Nidre.” 

She turned on her heel and left.

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck and fought the urge to chase her. He wanted spin her around and make her talk to him. But what was he going to say? Each possibility was worse than the last. _It seems wrong to me that you’re suddenly more involved in your religion? Yes, you’ve always been proud to be Jewish, but this feels like a personality shift? I think it has something to do with Havenrock? I’m pissed and I’m worried because you haven’t talked to me about Havenrock?_

Felicity didn’t have to talk to him. She didn’t have to process her feelings with him. She’d organized a charity auction. That was a good thing. That was channeling her feelings in a positive direction. Didn’t that mean she was doing fine? 

He still had a nagging, gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him something was wrong. If nothing had been wrong, Felicity wouldn’t have hidden what she was doing. This was an act of goodness. It was pure sunshine. Why was this, of all things, the secret she held tight to her chest? 

>>——>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yentas:** Grandmas. Also, any gossipy old ladies.  
>  **Rosh Hashana:** the Jewish New Year.  
>  **Mavens:** an expert, or boss.  
>  **Tuchas:** ass, buttocks.  
>  **Oneg:** a small meal, mostly snacks, often served after the religious services.  
>  **Lox:** smoked salmon.


	6. Are Your Knees Quivering?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea's plan to lure out the cat burglar works. They flirt and fight and now she has to goggle Omar Sharif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I use some foreign words that aren't Hebrew or Yiddish. I translate them at the end, too!

Thea fiddled with her emeralds while considering the statue of Bast. The little cat goddess had sparkling green eyes that matched the jewels.

“It’s not actually Egyptian,” the man behind her said.

Thea turned looked the intruder over, from wingtips to wavy hair. He looked good. He was tall and swarthy and had the perfect shoulders to hang a tuxedo on. She tried not to lick her lips.

“It was made in Paris during the height of _art deco’s_ orientalist obsession,” he continued.

“ _A beautiful little frivolity that invokes all the decadence of a Great Gatsby fete with the refinement of a French bon-bon,_ ” Thea quoted from the catalog.

He smiled at her. “I liked that description, too.” He leaned down toward her, a twinkle in his eye. “In fact, those were the words that made me decided to see the little goddess in person.”

“So what do you think?” Thea asked, cocking her hip. She didn’t bite her lip. She didn’t.

His nostrils flared. “I think” he said, “it’s exactly the type of packaging rich white women want for their middle eastern interests.”

“That’s cold.”

He shrugged, and walked to the other side of Bast’s display case. “I don’t think you’d look at me, the way you _are_ looking at me, if I was wearing a jellabiya instead of this tux, either.”

Thea smirked. “Well, that’s a neg I’ve never heard before, I’ll give you that. But I used to run a club and I know a gigolo when I see one. No matter how he’s dressed.” Thea leveled her gaze at him, “For the record, though, I do prefer kurtas to jellabiyas.”

Her sparring partner lifted an eyebrow. “Touche” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “So what about this piece moves you? You’ve been staring at it even longer than I have.”

“I was thinking that she looks awfully dangerous for a frivolity.” 

Thea shifted her weight and squared her shoulders. It was a subtle shift on the outside, but suddenly she was a predator. She was aware of everyone in the room that was prey.

The man flirting with her was a predator, too. Thea decided that they’d found their suave catburglar at last.

“Like you Ms. Queen?” His lip twitched as he said her name. 

“You know my name and I don’t know yours, that seems unfair.”

“I take the advantages I can get.” He glanced over at John. “The cop you’re working for is getting uncomfortable.”

“He’s not a cop. He’s my bodyguard.”

“He telegraphs law enforcement just as loudly as you telegraph bait.” His teeth clicked against his tongue on that final “t.” He was taunting her and enjoying it. “I’ve seen you move away from three different groups of girls that were trying to talk to you. You step out by yourself and play with those pretty baubles in an eye catching way,” he leered at her. “And your cop is carefully watching everything in the room, except you.”

Thea’s lips curled upward. “I suppose that makes you the villain.”

She started circling toward him.

“Villain?” he snorted, circling with her. “No. I am the rakishly good looking thief, re-appropriating stolen wealth and culture. Honorable and dangerous.” He kept the display case between them. “Why should a random white family in Star City make money off of a Frenchman’s bastardized version of my culture’s history. This city has accepted the Green Arrow, embraced his strip club Robin Hood rip off. I’m just as legitimate. He can be Errol Flynn and I’ll be Omar Sharif. We’ll see who can actually makes the ladies quiver at the knees.” 

They’d traveled all the way around the display case. 360 degrees, sizing each other up. He smiled a brilliant, lopsided smile. His eyes twinkled with mischief. Thea swallowed, suddenly flushed. After she beat this guy up, she was going to have to Google Omar Sharif.

“I guess that speech means you aren’t going to give up quietly?” 

“If I had the time, I’d steal a kiss along with that necklace. I'd run my fingers through your hair so sweetly, that you wouldn’t care when I took the earrings, too.” 

“You want to step onto the balcony? I know a few good moves myself.”

“Alas,” he said with a deep sigh, “this is going to be rushed.” 

He darted forward and grabbed Thea’s wrist, twisting it up and backwards in a way that forced her to bend forward at the waist. He’d put on gloves while his hands were in his pockets. They had claws. Catman after all. 

Thea rolled with the movement; not quite a full flip, but a jitterbug dip where she bent under her own arm like she was doing the limbo. She came out of the circle with a roundhouse kick aimed at his head. 

Catman ducked her foot. He laughed as her kick hit the display case, cracking the glass and tipping the whole thing over. It fell onto Diggle. He had started moving toward the fight as soon as the burglar had grabbed at Thea. Instinctively, Diggle caught the heavy case against his body. He grunted, trapped in the effort preventing the whole thing from crashing and shattering.

Thea and Catman danced. She kicked off her heels. She was leading, on the attack, and he was dodging, an agile partner. Too agile for Thea’s tastes. He had a graceful feline response to every move she made. He caught one of her swings and used the momentum of it to pull her into a spin that slammed her back to his front. He grabbed her throat with his long fingered hands. The clawed tips of his gloves dug into her skin. She could feel the blood pulsing against them.

“You trained in Arabia, little _Malika,_ ” he said breathlessly, his lips close to her ear. “If I’d know that I would have made more of an effort to re-appropriate you.” 

John roared and pushed the display case back into place. The bottom and the statue stabilized quickly, but the glass top tipped over and shattered onto the floor.

“Let the girl go,” Diggle said, leveling a gun at the burglar.

“I don’t want to,” Catman responded. “She’s absolutely charming. I’m thinking of taking her with me.” 

“That’s a mistake,” John said, low and serious. “She’s not as forgiving as I am.” 

Thea shifted her weight and threw Catman over her shoulder into the sparkling glass shards. He rolled and popped up into a pretty stance, one hand on the floor and one leg outstretched like a dancer. He flashed her a smile and waved. Her emerald necklace was dangling from his fingertips. 

“Son of a bitch,” Thea said.

“Insult me all you want _Malika,_ ” he said seriously, “but my mother was a saint.”

Thea surveyed the terrain, curling her toes against the floor. Her shoes were on the other side of all the broken glass. She balled her hands into fists. Catman blew her a kiss. 

John charged at the burglar. Catman stayed low and swept around in a low spin kick. John jumped forward over the kick, ready to land on the thief. But with that same feline grace, the man rolled out of the way and slashed at John’s ankles. Diggled crumped as he landed. He should have stomped the man into the ground, but his ankle didn’t hold. The burglar grabbed the statute and sprinted out of the room. Digg aimed for his retreating form, but the crowd followed the burglar in awe. It coalesced across the line of sight, blocking any chance Digg had for a clean shot. He cursed as Thea pushed to his side.

“When did he get claws?” Thea asked. She noted the blood seeping through Digg's sock with worry. 

“Did any of the reports talk about Catman being able to fight like that?”

“No. It was all romance and subterfuge.”

Digg pushed himself up to standing, hopping on one foot till he found his balance, and then slowly tested his weight on the injured ankle. “It’s not that bad,” Digg said gritting his teeth.

“Lylah’s going to make you wear a boot.”

Digg closed his eyes, and Thea imagined the grand cascade of curses running in his head. After a serious pause his shoulders dropped.

“Why can’t it ever be easy?” Digg asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jellabiya:** a traditional Sudanese and Egyptian garment native to the Nile Valley.  
>  **Kurta:** an upper garment for men and women, originating in South Asia, with regional variations of form.  
>  **Malika:** Queen (Arabic).


	7. Is This Really an Emergency?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this really an emergency? Should you be touching Felicity's computers when she's not there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I translate any new Hebrew or Yiddish words I use at the end of the chapter.

Oliver’s phone started playing _Sisters are Doing it for Themselves._ Everyone turned to stare at him in disgust. Everyone except Felicity. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t look away from the service. She probably knew it was him. She’d programmed all his ringtones.

He did think that he saw her shoulders slump, slightly. 

She’d stared forward all night, her back ramrod straight. He’d never seen her so serious at Temple. Last year she’d bounced lightly along with the Ashamnu, chanting and tapping at her chest, looking up at him every few sentences to make sure he wasn’t lost or confused. Last year she’d looked like she was reciting the pledge of allegiance at a ball game, instead of confessing her sins as she beat her chest. This year-- 

He sighed. This year all the words hung heavily on her. 

He flattened his feelings out of his face. Suddenly, he was glad she hadn’t turned around. Oliver quieted the phone, and excused himself, pushing out a back side door before bringing the call to his ear.

“What's happened?” he asked Thea.

He was listening to the story when the service ended and people started streaming out around him. 

“I’m on my way over,” he said.

Felicity stopped in the middle of the crowd and turned toward him. He could read the worry on her face, and other emotions too. Anger. Exhaustion. Something tragic that might have been longing. He thought for a moment that she was going to walk over and say something. There were some many things she could say to him. He wasn’t ready. One of the yenta’s snagged her arm, pulling her attention away. A wave of relief crashed over him. He disappeared before Felicity could look over again.

>>——>

A bit deeper and the cut would have damaged Digg’s achilles tendon. Instead it was just a painful. The equivalent of a badly sprained ankle.

“I’ll never complain about you wearing motorcycle boots to fancy functions again,” Lylah said, tightening the bandages. “You should stay off it, though.”

Digg sighed. 

“Do we know Omar Sharif’s next target?” Oliver asked. 

“We’ve been calling him Catman,” Thea said.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. Thea blushed. Surprised at her reaction, Oliver cocked his head and looked down his nose at her.

Thea crossed her arms and huffed. “Felicity came up with it.”

Diggle looked up at the ceiling and groaned. “My life would be so much easier" he said to Lylah, "if she learned how to flirt less and he learned how to flirt more. Then neither would have been distracted, and we probably would have caught the guy.”

Lylah gave a little snort of amusement. “I don’t blame Thea,” she said, a smile playing across her face, “tall, dark, and dashing gets to me, too.” She tucked the end of the bandage in and gave him naughty smirk. 

“I like your bedside manner,” Digg said, his voice warm and rough.

Lylah’s leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s keep this debriefing short. I want to get you home.”

“Promise,” Digg said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. He looked over at Oliver and Thea expectantly. “So?” 

Thea dropped her arms and leaned back on the railing. “I can scour social media. He said he was interested in re-appropriating Egyptian artifacts. I’ll see if there’s anything on the socialite scene that might match.”

“The statue of Bast wasn’t authentic,” Digg added, agreeing with her plan, ”so a loose match is probably good enough. We should run Felicity’s facial recognition program, too. See if we can trace where he went.”

They both looked over at Oliver.

“No,” Oliver said, shaking his head.

“Somebody has to do it,” Digg replied.

Oliver looked over Thea. “You’ve been hanging out with her, shopping, saying terrible things about me. Right?”

“Doesn’t mean that I’m going to touch her computers,” Thea replied with a derisive snort.

Oliver looked pleadingly at Diggle. 

“You’re the only one that knows her passwords,” Digg said.

“Only as a fail-safe.” 

“You’re the fail-safe, because you’re still her favorite,” Thea said.

“Guys…” Oliver smiled a desperate, fake smile. There was fear in his eyes. “I know you think this is funny, but it’s not.

“Yeah it is,” Digg said gesturing for Lylah to help him up. “It’s hysterical. More importantly, it’s settled.”

Oliver fidgeted nervously, “There has to be something else I can do? I’ll hit the streets. I’ll shake the trees and see what falls out.”

“Right because the local thugs are going to suddenly know something they didn’t know yesterday?” Lylah helped Digg walk toward the elevator and Digg patted Oliver on the shoulder as he passed. “I believe in you. You can do this.” 

They were leaving Oliver alone with Felicity’s computers.

“Don’t get any crumbs in the keys,” Thea called out from the elevator. “She hates that.”

“Maybe you should wear the boot,” Lylah said to John as elevator doors closed.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “They are just trolling you, Oliver,” he said to himself, “Don’t feed them. Don’t play into their games.” He sat down and put his hands on the keyboard and watched the screen wake up. “We’re adults. We’re all adults.” He typed in the passwords. 

A message screen popped up.

 _“Oliver,”_ the screen read _“you’re typing is hesitant. Is this really an emergency? Should you call Felicity before logging in?”_ An 8-bit image of Felicity tilted her head skeptically at him.

Oliver blinked. “I’m dead. I am so dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ashamnu:** Confession. In particular the ritualized group confession recited on Yom Kippur.


	8. Could you stop bringing up last year?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has to ask Felicity for help with the computers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I translate any new Hebrew or Yiddish words I use at the end of the chapter.

Oliver knocked on Felicity’s door at 9:30 am. He had coffee. He hoped that would make his early intrusion better. Felicity opened the door fully dressed and sparkling with irritation. Oliver gaped. He had been expecting pajamas and bedhead. The white skirt suit and bun were intimidating.

“You’re dressed,” Oliver said. He instantly regretted that _those_ were the first words out of his mouth.

“Morning Service starts at 10:00. I was just on my way out.”

“Last year you said there wasn’t any point in arriving before 11ish.”

“Can you stop bringing up last year!?”

He swallowed. This wasn’t the best start. “I need your help. I brought coffee.” He held out the cups in offering.

Felicity took a step forward and leaned over the cups inhaling deeply. She whimpered a little. Oliver smiled, relieved. He could always count on coffee.

“Pour it out,” she said sadly.

“What?”

“I’m fasting. I appreciate it. It’s a really sweet gesture. It’s also too tempting to be around. Pour it out.”

“But last y—” Oliver swallowed the words. “I thought coffee was allowed. Like medicine. Medicinal coffee.”

“Yes.” She took a bracing breath. “And you thought that because I lied to you. Because I am a bad Jew, and I have cheated every Yom Kippur until this Yom Kippur. But this Yom Kippur I am not cheating. And that means no coffee.” 

She turned on her heel and walked back into her apartment, leaving Oliver to stand shocked in her doorway. He took a step over the threshold, then pulled back to dump the coffee out into a set of potted plants. 

“Felicity,” he called out, hustling after her, his hands clumsy with disposable lids. “I don’t think a cup of coffee, or a few late afternoon saltines, can make you a bad Jew.” He walked past her to the kitchen trash can and threw the empty coffee cups away.

“And you are qualified to have this opinion because?” Felicity asked dropping her keys and sunglasses into her purse.

Oliver threw up his hands in frustration. “Because Rabbi Zach told me that the laws were things to live by, not die by, and--"

“I’m not dying, I feel like I am, but I’m not,” Felicity said talking over him.

“And,” Oliver continued, demanding her attention, “that in the end God judges us on the actions we take to make the world a better place. You’ve always worked to make the world a better place.”

Felicity blinked, then squinted at Oliver. 

“Tycoon alum,” he said.

“I know what tikkun olam is, I want to know when you met with Rabbi Zach to talk about what makes a good Jew?”

Oliver cracked his neck and leaned on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I met with him a few times, in Ivy Town.”

“Last year? Why?”

He clicked his jaw in frustration. “You know why, Felicity. I asked you to marry me. I tried to learn a little something beforehand.” This should not be what made her unhappy. “Why are we fighting about this?”

Felicity closed her eyes and swallowed. She took a deep breath and rubbed at her chest, right below the clavicle, where her throat fell into that delicate, vulnerable, divot in front of her hyoid bone. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m cranky. It’s just the hangries.”

Oliver looked at her skeptically. “You really haven't had any coffee today? At all?”

“I haven’t had coffee since noon yesterday,” Felicity laughed bitterly. 

Oliver flinched. “Okay. Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have your phone. I would hate to see what you’d unleash on the world in this mood.”

Felicity gave him a withering stare. “Tell me what the problem is. If you are here, then there must be a problem. It’s the burglar isn’t it? Catman?”

Oliver dropped his arms. “He’s got real combat training. Knicked Diggle’s achilles tendon in a fight last night.”

“Oh no! Is John alright?”

“He’s grumpy but mobile,” Oliver scratched the scruff on his face. “Catman’s Egyptian, we think. He told Thea that he’s re-appropriating his cultural artifacts. He compared himself to Robin Hood and Omar Sharif.”

“He can’t have Robin Hood,” Felicity said with a snort, “Robin Hood is ours, yours.” 

Oliver tilted his head at her surprised, and she stated rolling her hands summoning more explanation. 

“The only reason I haven’t made every Robin Hood and Little John reference, ever, is because if I did, then Digg would call me Maid Marion, and I’m no Maid Marion.” 

Oliver inhaled sharply. His chest had that caved in feeling, again. He needed to fill it up. To stretch out the space. He needed air that could be formed into words.

Felicity’s eyes popped. “Not because of love story stuff, my objection is not about romance or lack of romance, it’s that she was a nun and I will _never_ be a nun--” she bit her lip and looked at the ceiling, “And, three, two, one.” 

She looked back at him. “Because I’m Jewish. I will never be a nun, because I’m Jewish.” 

Oliver blinked. He wet his lips, then pressed them together. Adults, he reminded himself. This was just small talk.

“Errol Flynn or Kevin Costner?” he asked lightly. 

Felicity snorted. “Disney, of course. You're a fox and John's a teddy bear. Aaand I shouldn’t have said that.” She looked off to the side and sighed.

He sighed, too. “I tried to run your cctv program last night to see where Catman went after the gallery fight, but I couldn’t make it work right.”

“It’s Yom Kippur, Oliver, and I’m doing repentance right this year. I have to do it right this year," her voice cracked slightly. "I can’t touch a computer until tomorrow.” 

“Can you talk me through it? I don’t want you to break the rules, but I can be your shabbos goy, right?”

“When did you learn about shabbos goys? Oh. Yes. The secret meetings with Rabbi Zach. At some point I’m going to stop being surprised when you do something terrifyingly smart behind my back.”

“It was just a couple of lunches.” 

He had done it impress her. He’d done it to get exactly the response she was having now. He could admit that to himself, at least. He’d spent so many years being a pretty boy fuck-up. Then he was muscle. Felicity made him feel like his street smarts were real smarts. He’d been kicked out of so many schools, and failed so many classes and she was the only person who had ever looked and him and said _kinesthetic learner._ She’d never treated him like he was dumb. Even when he was. Mostly about her.

“I’m just glad you still need tech support. I’ve got to defend my turf. I’d never cut it as the pretty face.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said, a dozen old conversations in his head, “you’re the prettiest.” 

He looked at her seriously and she blushed. Growing up around showgirls had screwed with her self-image. 

“Right. Thanks. But, no. Not when they’re fighting to put you on the cover of all the magazines, Mayor Queen,” she smirked at him. “You are definitely the prettiest one on the team.”

“Do you want to put it to a vote? Because I don’t think John or Thea would pick me.”

Felicity blushed again. There was a moment of stillness between them. Her eyes locked onto his and he had to squeeze the counter to keep his arms from grabbing her. 

“Okay. Shabbos goy rules,” she stammered, looking away from him. “I can’t tell you to do anything. I can’t give you orders. I can’t turn the computer on, or type. But if you have a question, then I can do the mitzvah of helping you, by answering your questions.”

Oliver noticed that he was breathing again. “Is the big computer still in the bedroom?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tikkun Olam.** A jewish concept defined by acts of kindness performed to perfect or repair the world. The phrase is often used when discussing issues of social policy, insuring a safeguard to those who may be at a disadvantage.  
>  **Shabbos Goy:** a non-Jew who performs certain types of work which Jewish religious law enjoins the Jew from doing on the Sabbath.  
>  **Mitzvah:** Commandment. colloquially, it means a good deed.


	9. You Want a Sneak Peak?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity meets a new congregant. He joined just to meet her.

With Felicity’s help, Oliver found video of the burglar in less than an hour. He was last seen heading into a sewer near the water treatment plant. 

Waiting for Oliver to ask her the right question had been beyond frustrating, but they’d gotten it done.

Diggle, Oliver, and Thea, were tracing his steps. Felicity wanted to be on comms watching over them. But she was at Temple. The situation left her with a low gnawing worry in her belly, but that was pretty normal these days. She was going to end up with an ulcer. And her head was killing her. 

She’d left the sanctuary halfway through the Torah reading. She didn’t go far, just to a side hallway, where the noise was muffled and she could sip at her water bottle.

A stranger sat down on the neighboring bench with a sigh. He looked Israeli, a little browner and more muscled than the average congregant. It was easy for Felicity to imagine him working in the sun on a kibbutz, or patrolling some mountainous patch of desert. She also didn’t miss that he knew how to wear a suit. 

“I’d kill for a coffee right now,” he said rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“Me, too,” Felicity agreed

He smiled at her, then looked down at her name tag. “Felicity Smoak! I’ve been wanting to meet you. I was going to ask the yentas to introduce us, but this is even better. It’s kizmet.”

“Oh?”

“The Havenrock auction is why I joined this shul instead of Congregation Beth Shalom.”

“Um, okay. Well, it’s very nice to meet you Mr…?”

“Sharif, but please call me Blake.”

“Blake?” Felicity looked at him skeptically, “Did your parents think that would fool anybody?”

His eyes widened and Felicity immediately started apologizing. 

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I apparently need more calories to operate my brain to mouth filter.”

“It’s fine,” he said, amused. “Nobody is at there best when they’re fasting.” He leaned toward her conspiratorially “The worst year was when I lived over a bakery. I was a sophomore in college and I had to call a friend at three a.m. and beg to stay at his house.”

“Oh my god!” Felicity said, eyes wide. “I hope they took you in. Because that story is, like, the most terrifying thing I have heard in the last half hour.”

He snorted, and glanced down sideways. When he looked back up, he was biting his lower lip shyly. “I have to be honest with you. I wanted to meet you because I am dying to see the book. The one that might have belonged to a student of Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī” 

“Oh!” Felicity’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re a math fan! I would not have guessed that. I mean everyone should be interested in early algebra. But not everyone is.”

“It’s the suit. Isn’t it,” he said with a smile. “Tailoring is just another form of calculation, I never understood why rumpled was the universal signal for _I like numbers._ ” 

“It’s more like rumpled is the universal sign for _I do homework. All night._ ”

He chuckled. “A shayna maidel with a yiddishe kop. I imagine all the mothers are trying to introduce you to their sons.”

“Not so much.” Felicity pressed her lips into a tight line.

“So will you tell me about it,” he asked eagerly. “Not the yentas! I mean the book.” He wet his lips and and blushed. 

Felicity smiled. “It’s got no provenance, so it’s probably fake.” 

“It’s the right kind of fake though, isn’t it!?!” he leaned forward eagerly “A Victorian replica of a secret book from Alexandria. The mystery and romance is almost better than being completely real. Didn’t you inherited it from Ray Palmer’s private collection?”

“You’ve read the catalog,” Felicity said with an uncomfortable squirm.

He didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on something soft and puzzling in the middle distance. “Maybe the yentas are intimidated,” he mused, apparently to himself. “With Ray Palmer and Oliver Queen in your dating history, that’s hard to live up to.” He glanced at her wide eyed and scared. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about me,” Felicity said with an unhappy twist of her mouth.

“I read up on Palmer Tech when I was looking for a new job. But I only know what they publish in the gossip rags. That’s not real knowledge is it? Only rumor. A game of telephone.” 

“Like our algebra book.” 

“No,” he said seriously, “The book isn’t a rumor. It’s real knowledge. The paper is different paper but the algorithms are the same. The original rules of of mathematics from the golden age of Persia, copied over by hand for thousands of years, and passed from teacher to student. No different than a Torah, really.”

Felicity rocked back on her heels, metaphorically, she was still sitting down. She gave her _I-also-hate-fasting buddy_ a second look. “That would nice. I could understand that religion. Math is perfect. Logical. Morality? Life? They aren’t.”

“Did you have family in Havenrock?” he asked tentatively.

“No. No family.” The words came out in compressed. Felicity realized she was grinding her teeth.

“Really?” His eyebrows launched upward. “Your name is barely associated with the fundraiser. Since you aren’t seeking recognition or credit I thought for certain…,” he shrugged.

“Are you planning on bidding on it? The book?”

“I want that book more than you could know, but I don’t think I could afford it.”

Felicity collapsed into her chair. “That’s a shame. I want it goes to someone who’ll love it. It’s amazing. I mean provenance or no, the book is amazing.”

“I hate to ask, but why are you selling it? It’s such a treasure?”

“Havenrock needs what it can buy more than I need a… a…” she grasped the air in front of her.

“A holy book?” he offered with a sympathetic smile.

“A symbol. Maybe. There are some things that even math can’t make better.”

“I hate that,” he said. “Math should make everything better.”

“It should," she agreed. "You know the book has got this beautiful illustration of magic squares. I was going to feature it in my talk this afternoon.” 

“The one on recreational mathematics!?! ”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You wanna sneak peak?”

>>——>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Shayna Maidel:** A pretty girl.  
>  **Yiddishe Kop:** A smart head.  
>  **Shul:** a Jewish religious community.


	10. Guys!?! I think I found a bomb!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys!?! I think I found a bomb!

“Okay, just spit it out,” Digg ordered. “What did Felicity say to you?”

Diggle had tried to ignore Oliver. He was brooding with more intensity than than normal. He’d moved from annoyingly broody to distractingly grumpy. He was verging on disruptively surely. They’d been at the water plant for a half hour and were not working efficiently. Mostly because Oliver’s head was elsewhere.

“You look like you’ve left the oven on,” Digg said. “And you’ve snapped at Thea three or four times now. Something’s gotten under your skin.”

Oliver looked at him sideways. “Did you know that Felicity’s been organizing a fundraiser for Havenrock?”

“No. Good for her.”

“Thea’s given her six paintings, including two Picassos, a Modigliani, and a Chagall.”

“And that bothers you? I didn’t know you were an art lover.” Digg turned a corner and took them from hallway to machine room.

“It’s not the paintings. I don’t care about the paintings.” Oliver used a set of struts to parkour his way to get up on top of some large storage tanks. Oliver searched behind them. Sweeping for anything out of place with his flashlight. “It’s just, this isn’t like a spur of the moment project. She’s got an auction house and a glossy catalogue, the kind of stuff that takes months to organize and advertise” Oliver jumped down off the tanks. “I had no idea she was doing any of it.” 

“Ahh,” Digg said, walking toward the next cluster of machinery “so you’re petulant because you were left out? That’s what happens after a breakup, man, you know that.”

Oliver was slightly behind, but he caught up. “That’s not what bothers me.” 

Digg cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Okay, it’s not the only thing that bothers me. I’m bothered that she felt like she had to hide it.” 

Digg snorted and leaned over to look behind a stack of metal crates. “She didn’t hide it from Thea. Probably because Thea wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“Exactly, she asked Thea for donations, but she didn’t talk to Thea about Havenrock, and Thea didn’t ask. As far as I can tell Felicity hasn’t talked anybody about Havenrock since it happened.”

Digg stopped in his tracks and looked at Oliver. Maybe there was something to be worried about. He shook it off. “We aren’t the only people in her life, Oliver. Maybe she talked to her mother.”

Oliver looked at him doubtfully.

“It’s not impossible,” Digg argued. “Not completely.” 

Digg knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy Oliver.

“There’s something else,” Oliver said. He grabbed the bottom rung of a ladder and started climbing up toward the catwalk. “The way she’s treating Yom Kippur this year is different. I took her coffee this morning and she made me pour it out in the bushes because she was _'fasting right' this year.”_

“But coffee is medicinal,” Digg call up, confused.

“She said she hadn’t had any since noon yesterday.” 

“Okay, that is worrisome.”

“Thank you!” Oliver said, throwing up his arms in relief.

“Guys?” Thea called out, she was on the other side of the room. “I think I found a bomb.”

Oliver and Diggle both turned their attention to her instantly. The sticks of dynamite tied to a digital timer certainly looked like a bomb. 

“Thea get away from that!” Oliver yelled.

“I think I can disarm it,” she said back. “I pull all the wires right Digg?”

Digg was running across the floor toward her. He didn’t say anything, but barreled into her and knocked her to the ground and away from the the bomb. 

Nothing happened.

Digg leaned back and looked down at Thea, she had a bundle of wires in her hand. He looked back at the bomb. The digital clock had stopped. He snorted. 

“You make me glad I never had a sister,” he said.

“Aww,” Thea replied, tilting her head and smiling up at him. “I love you, too!”

The words were barely out of her mouth, when the second bomb went off. The explosion sent a yellow fireball spurting out of the hallway Digg and Oliver had used to get into the room. The walls shook. The bolts holding the catwalk to the ceiling creaked and failed. Oliver shot a grappling arrow and swung out over the empty space as the metal crashed down behind him.

He landed next to Thea and Digg, with a thump and roll. They barely had time to exchange glances before another explosion went off. It was closer.

The group scrambled to their feet. Digg was calculating escape routes on the map in his head. This would have been better with Felicity telling them what paths were still clear.

“What does he get out of blowing up the water plant?” Oliver asked. 

There was a hissing sound. A high pressure spray of water broke through a pipe at the ceiling. Then another pipe groaned, and gurgling sound started to come through the air vents. The gurgle grew. A long heavy gushing flooding water poured out of the vents. 

“We got to get out of here. Now,” Digg said. 

There was one exit still clear. At least it looked clear. He pointed it out to Thea and she nodded. Oliver was still staring at the cascade from the air vents. Water was starting to accumulate on the floor. 

“He’s backing up the system,” Oliver said. 

Digg grabbed Oliver’s shoulder and pulled him into action.

“Not now, man!” 

They splashed across the room after Thea. An electrical panel released a burst of bright sparks with a dangerous pop.


	11. Don't Drink the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re him. The catman. The burglar.

Felicity hit the side of the water fountain in frustration. The stream of cool headache soothing water had trickled out and died for no reason. 

Blake Sharif, algebra book enthusiast, offered her his bottle of water. 

“I always carry extras on fast days,” he said.

Felicity looked at him thankfully and took a gulp. “I don’t think I ever drink enough water.” 

He looked around the social hall appreciatively. “This stuff all looks really valuable," he said. “I’m surprised that there’s not more security.”

“There’s plenty of security,” Felicity said. She offered him the water bottle back, but he waved her off. “Palmer Tech donated pressure sensors, and cameras, and alarms, and other fun bits. The glass in all the frames is bulletproof.” 

He looked impressed and she took another swig of water.

“The book is toward the back.” She led the way and he followed.

The illustrated algebra book of Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī was in a standing display case. It was open to a beautiful set of gilded drawing: golden amber numbers in grids with arrows patterned across frames in pale green ink. The arrows made lightening bolts and starbursts that illustrated the different ways the numbers could be read into equations. 

Blake and Felicity both leaned over and sighed contentedly as they looked at it. 

“I hate to ask for more,” he said, “but do you think we could get it out?”

Felicity grinned up at him. “It is still mine. For now at least. Right?”

She stood up and took step to the side, reaching down to tap open a hidden panel and reveal a digital lock. Suddenly a wave of woozy nausea washed over her. She inhaled sharply and blinked.

“I don’t feel good.” 

“More hunger headaches?” 

Felicity tried to focus on her new friend, but his face doubled and blurred. He was so good looking and debonair. He was charming. Oliver didn’t know the first thing about being charming. That wasn’t true. He could say all the right things, too. But when he said all the right things he was lying. That's how you knew when Oliver was lying. This guy was much smoother. 

“I think I’m flattered?” Blake said.

Felicity looked down at the water bottle in her hand. She gasped and dropped it like it was radioactive.

“You’re him. The Catman. The burglar.” Felicity took an accusatory step toward him and the ground wasn't where it was supposed to be. She felt herself starting to fall. The ground would be there for her this time, she thought. But she missed it again. The burglar had his arms around her and he was smiling at her while his coffee eyes sparkled. 

“I like Catman. I think I’ll steal that too.”

“Coffee deserves better.”

“Is that a comment about my skin color? It’s rather declasse to compare people to food, _mon petit chou-fleur._ ” 

He eased her to the floor, leaning her against the side of the display case. "You are a light-weight. That should not have affected you so quickly. Now that I've held you I know I didn't get your weight wrong."

“Your name is fake.”

“So is your hair.”

“I don’t like you.” She frowned, a big pouty frown, with her bottom lip folded out over her chin. 

He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That is heartbreaking to hear, but I think I can learn to live with it.”

He pulled a blinking trigger remote out of his pocket and pressed the button. There were a series of pops throughout the building. Small bursts of fireworks and rolling clouds of brightly colored smoke. The sprayer system in the building spun up, but no water came out of the ceiling sprinklers.

There were shouts as all the people started to flee. Catman winked at Felicity and started evaluating the paintings. 

“The evacuation process will keep the police busy for at least the next half hour,” he said, pulling on his clawed gloves. “Any other alerts they get will be recorded as artifacts of the bomb. Meanwhile, the bomb squad is particular about its protocols, and that combination should give us plenty of time.”

A security drone dropped down from the ceiling and starts taking pictures. Catman posed dramatically for the camera: claws spread and a snarl on his face. He vamped through a few positions. Enough to make sure that he'd look good in the newspaper. After several flashes, he flicked his wrist and a knife popped out of his sleeve. He threw it into the drone with deadly precision. The machine sputtered and fell to the floor, speared through the CPU. 

>>——>

Digg put a hand to his chest and huffed. He was going to have to add more cardio to his daily routine. 

“Why does a jewel thief want to blow up a water plant?” Thea asked “Shouldn't there have been threats and demands for money.”

Oliver’s brow crinkled. “And he only took out part of it.”

“Felicity could tell us which part of the town he’s disabled,” Thea said.

“We can figure it out,” Digg responded. “It’ll just take a little longer to do the leg work.” 

Oliver’s frown deepened and his eyes darted from the plant to the city skyline. 

Suddenly, all their phones went off with a chorus of beeps and whistles. Digg wrestled his phone out of the inner pocket where he’d secured it and cursed. A bomb had gone off at Felicity’s Temple and the SCPD were scrambling to get on scene and evacuate the building. 

Oliver was already on his bike. He hadn't bothered to read the text alert. The engine roared to life and he shot off down the road. Diggle felt his chest contract again. He’d told Oliver that the bombs were never real. 

“God I am such an idiot,” Thea cursed as they scrambled to get into the van. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think about Felicity’s art auction. It's a perfect soft target, and now we’re on the opposite side of the city!” 

Diggle set his jaw and sucked in a tug of crisp autumn air. He turned over the engine and tore out of the parking lot. 

“Call Lance,” he said, “he needs to know the burglar is there. And he’ll need the heads up that either the mayor or the Green Arrow is about to show up, and I don’t know which one. He’ll have to cover either way”

“Ugh.” Thea gulped and rolled her eyes. She was clearly not looking forward to this call. “Well, at least he owes Ollie his job.”

>>——>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **mon petit chou-fleur:** My little cauliflower (French)


	12. Distributive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catman tries to get the stuff, Oliver shows up in the knick of time.

“There’s never actually a bomb,” Felicity mumbled. “There’s always a threat but there’s never a bomb. Uhhgh, Diana’s pregnant!” 

Catman flipped a painting frame over and sliced carefully though the picture’s backing. 

“They’ll only get hurt if they trample each other. It’s all smoke and sparkle.”

He pulled the picture from the frame and laid it right side up gently on the carpet. He pulled out what looked like a thick black water bottle from his jacket. With a snappy wrist motion he flicked it out into a long tube. He quickly rolled the picture up and slid it into the carrying case.

“I need my phone. Why don’t I have my phone.” Felicity patted at her hips looking for pockets that didn’t exist.

“You don’t have your phone because it is Yom Kippur and you are keeping the day holy.” 

Catman took down a second painting. The Modigliani.

“Oh, right” Felicity said. She furrowed her brow and raised an index finger. “I’ve been bad this year.” She tilted her head, suddenly noticing her hand. It was up in the air in front of her face. “I have so many teeny tiny little lines." She spread her fingers and stared at the back of her hands. “Road maps. Topographical maps. Heh.”

Catman finished packing up his second painting. He only had one more case. He looked around the room and sighed.

“Is this ah, um, a god thingy?” Felicity asked, letting her head loll against the case. “Jews and," she grabbed at the air "Egypt-men? The Yom Kippur War?” 

“Of course not,” he snorted. He seemed torn between the Picasso and a Chagall. “I hate war. The priceless relics that have been lost. The amount of beauty that’s been destroyed because of religious in-fighting. It wounds my soul." He chose the Picasso. "Art is as close as we ever get to the divine. God is beautiful. To love beauty is to worship.”

He clipped a single strap to the all three tube ends and then settled them across his back. He squatted down next to Felicity and smiled kindly at her.

“He is forgiving, too. I was guilty and shamed once. But not anymore. Not since I found my calling. He knows what’s in your heart.” He reached out and patted her arm. "What is in your heart Felicity? What is the pass-code for your holy book here?”

“Mmh-Mmh, nuh-uh." She shook her head no. "I’m not going to tell you.”

“Why not? You said you wanted it to go to someone who loved it. And there is no one who could love it more than me. No one will blame you. I took you prisoner and forced your hand. God will understand.”

“It’s not just God that has to forgive. It’s people. It’s Havenrock people,” Felicity slurred. She put a hand on Catman chest and grabbed his lapel, she was determined to say her piece, even if she was drugged. She was doing her best to speak clearly. The words came out stuttered and over-pronounced.

“The people you hurt have to forgive you. And sometimes they can’t do that. Because they’re dead. Then you can’t ask. And they can’t answer. That's not real t’shuvah. It’s not distributive. I can’t make-up for Havenrock. And you!” She grabbed his other lapel, wanting to shake him. Because she was furious and he was a bad guy. “You shouldn’t steal from survivors.”

The effort of speaking made her dizzy. She might throw-up on him. Good. He deserved that.

He stared at her intently, a mild squint in his eyes.

“Distributive. That’s the name of an algebra formula, isn’t it? The Distributive Formula?”

Her eyes went wide in terror. “No. No.” She shook her head. “It’s a... something else.”

He smiled indulgently at her. “I’ll admit I’m behind on my recreational mathematics, but I think I can remember the distributive formula.”

He reached over her and started to type numbers into the control panel on the side of the display case. 

“X multiplied by A plus B, or is it X multiplied by A times B? No this is basic algebra so let's start with integrated addition. Where are the parentheticals hiding on this keypad? X multiplied by (A plus B), equals (X times A) plus (X times B.)”

There was a whoosh and a small pop as the air seal on the display case opened.

Felicity lets out a long relieved sigh. “Oh, that's good. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Catman looked down at her amused. “I’ve enjoyed your company, too.”

“I think she was talking to me,” said a low and gruff voice behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T'shuvah:** literally means "return" and is the word used to describe the concept of repentance in Judaism. Only by atoning for our sins can we restore balance to our relationship with God and with our fellow human beings.


	13. Who Can Find a Woman of Valor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Catman fight!

Catman looked over his shoulder saw the point of a green arrow directed at his face. Without looking away he gracefully slid his hand around Felicity’s throat. He was still mostly squatting over her. 

“If you haven’t shot me yet, I imagine it’s because those arrows are designed to penetrate armor, which means they’d go right through my simple suit and into the girl.”

Felicity giggled. “You’re tickling me.” She pushed weakly at his wrist. “You aren’t allowed to tickle me. I don’t like you and you are bad at math.”

“Step away from her,” Green Arrow ordered. 

“And take an arrow through the chest? I respectfully decline.” 

“I told you my security systems were good,” Felicity said. 

“The camera drone!” Catman said, with sudden understanding. “There goes my chance to be featured above the fold." He shook his head and _tsked_. “It’s not shomer shabbos to make someone work for you, and here I thought you were such a good Jewish girl.” 

Felicity looked back at him guilty. “I’m not a good person.”

“Actually, she’s remarkable,” the Oliver growled.

“Oh spare me,” Catman said. “Repressed romantic banter is the worst.”

“We broke up,” Felicity said.

“Well, he obviously hasn’t gotten over it. I strongly suspect he’s the reason you haven’t gotten any good dates. Bad baggage that one.”

With that, Catman pushed Felicity toward the floor. Oliver loosed his bow. Catman spun in place and batted the arrow out of the air with his claw before rolling behind the display case. Oliver’s second arrow splintered the wood where he had been. A new smoke bomb went off, filling the room with thick a yellow-white smog.

Oliver rushed toward Felicity, kneeling next to her. “Are you okay? Can you stand up?”

“He put something in the water.” 

She raised her arms toward him and he reached under her arms to lift her up to her feet. As soon as she was up she leaned back on the display case and pushed Oliver away.

“He’s trying to steal from Havenrock! You have to stop him.”

“I need to get you safe.”

“I don’t matter!” 

“You do!”

Felicity blushed and looked at the ground. She blinked and wiped her eyes. She started breathing in little tight gasps. Oliver reached out to touch her face but she flinched and pushed his hand away. She was trying not to cry, and failing.

Oliver’s thumb worried over the nocking point callus on his index finger. 

It was the perfect moment for Catman to attack. 

The burglar launched himself at Oliver’s side claws out; knocking him off his feet and driving him into the ground. Catman got in a good backhanded slash. It was aimed at Oliver’s face, but since Oliver’s arms had chosen to raise up protectively, the cut landed on Oliver’s bicep. 

His other arm jabbed up and into the Catman landing a body blow with a heavy thud. Oliver rolled to his feet. He barely dodged a beautiful spin kick aimed at his ribs. He lurched back and then lurched forward, shrugging his bow down his arm to use as a club. The Catman dodged with the supple grace of a ballet dancer. 

When Oliver fought he did not float like a butterfly. He was not lithe and light on his feet. Oliver's movements carried weight. When he stood he was rooted to the ground. When he punched, it was a rock flung through the air. Oliver’s fighting style was dirty, direct, and brutal. 

Catman fought in circles. His arms slashing with flat handed slices that whipped his deadly claws through the air. 

The smoke in the room gave Catman the advantage at first. It forced them into a close quarters knife fight. And Oliver didn’t have a knife. Cat man pushed him backwards across the room. Oliver picked up a folding chair and threw it. Catman dodged. But the break in rhythm gave Oliver an opening. He landed a kick to the other man’s solar plexus, driving the wind out of him. Catman staggered and snarled. He lunged toward Oliver angrily. Oliver knocked down one of the grey column of cubicle wall onto him. 

By the time Catman pulled himself free Oliver had an arrow pointed at his face again.

“I’m not worried about what’s behind you now,” Oliver said. The last person that attempted to drug Felicity had ended up with three arrow in his chest. This villain was lucky she was lucid.

Catman glared at him. Then raised his hands in surrender. 

“There was a time I thought we might be friends, Robin Hood. But now that I know you are a man that wastes beauty, I see it’s impossible. _Who can find woman of valour? Her price is far above rubies. -- Give her of the fruit of her own hands; and let her own works praise her unto Heaven._ It’s one thing never to win the girl. It’s entirely different to lose her trust and affection.”

There was a clanging of doors and the SCPD pushed into the room. Their guns were drawn and their flashlights cut the smoke at odd angles.

Police Commissioner Lance reached them first.

“Put your hands on your head,” he ordered. 

“He’s not talking to me,” Oliver growled.

Catman put his hands on his head and Lance handcuffed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Shomer Shabbos:** a person who observes the mitzvot (commandments) associated with Judaism's Shabbat.


	14. Could you answer a question?

Police Commissioner Lance double checked the Catman’s handcuffs and put him in the back of the cruiser himself. His next job was rescuing his boss from the press and he wasn’t looking forward to it. 

Nobody had wondered why Mayor Queen was on site. It was a terrorist attack that was possibly directed at his ex-fiance. Of course he was there to comment. The camera’s buzzed around him as he spoke about the need for the city to support its Jewish community. He also took the time to emphasize that the attack appeared to be a single individual acting alone. That this was about stealing art and not religious prejudice.

He squared his shoulders and walked toward the microphones. Oliver saw him coming. 

“I’m going to step away and let Police Commissioner Lance answer your specific questions. Please give us a few minutes to confer.”

Oliver smiled his million dollar playboy smile for the cameras. It disappeared as soon as he was close enough to speak to Lance without being overheard. Lance knew what he wanted and didn’t hesitate.

“The paramedics released her. They said that most of the drugs have cleared her system, but she still seemed a little out of it to me. She called me Friar Tuck. They said she needed to eat, but she won’t, because it’s Yom Kippur and the day isn’t over. Not till Gabriel blows his horn, right?”

“It’s a Shofar.” 

Lance squinted at Oliver, suspiciously. Oliver raised an eyebrow and looked back, tired and somewhat condescending. Lance sighed.

“I suppose I should learn something about this. For Donna.” 

Oliver gave Lance a sympathetic nod, and a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll pick it up.” 

“John and Thea were staying pretty close to Felicity,” Lance said. “Keeping the camera’s away from her. Trying to make her eat. You might call them.” 

“Thank you.” 

Oliver took his phone out and strode across the parking lot, while lance girded his loins and stepped up to the phalanx of microphones. 

“I am happy to report that the bomb squad has cleared the building and everyone will be able to return for the for the evening service, and properly conclude the holiday.” 

>>\-->

The Catman counted all the green cars as he worked at the cuffs. There were few and far between but he still managed to find five before the hand cuffs opened and fell to the seat. Traffic was thick today. 

"Excuse me?" he asked the officer who was driving, "Could you answer a question for me?" He rubbed his wrists without bring them out from behind his back.

"We'll get there when we get there," the officer said, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

"Who do you prefer, Errol Flynn or Omar Sharif?"

>>\-->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Shofar:** a ram's-horn trumpet used by ancient Jews in religious ceremonies and as a battle signal, now sounded at Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.


	15. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finally confesses

Oliver found Thea and Felicity across the street from the temple in a small park with a small pond. 

It’s was approaching twilight and Thea looked at him in despair as he came down the path. She was holding a coffee and an unwrapped Big Belly Burger. If she’d been urging Felicity to eat, she’d failed utterly. Neither item looked like it had been touched.

“Where’s John?” Oliver asked.

“Well since Felicity rejected my dinner pick, he’s waiting for pizza and Chinese food at the corner,” Thea explained.

“I won’t eat that either,” Felicity yelled back them over her shoulder. 

“Then we’ll eat it while we are waiting for you,” Thea said

Felicity looked distinctly less wobbly than she had before. She was tearing up a cookie and throwing bits into the stream

“I brought that for you, not the ducks,” Thea said. “You could save it for the picnic we are all apparently about to have.”

Oliver knew that Thea was worried. She wouldn’t have put on such a show of being annoyed if she wasn’t worried. 

“I missed Tashlich,” Felicity replied. “I’m making up for it.”

“What?”

“You throw your sins in the water and they get carried away.”

“Too many carbs is a sin?” There was a happy snark in Thea’s voice.

“Only on Passover.” 

It was a typical joke for Felicity to make. But at this moment, it sounded bleak and black.

Felicity turned around wiping her hands on her pants. She locked eyes with Oliver, and then looked away sharply. She squared her shoulders and marched up the bank toward them.

“How are you feeling?” Oliver asked. Her eyes were still puffy.

“Guilty,” Felicity said, taking the burger out of Thea’s hands 

“Finally,” Thea said. 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “The day is supposed to make you feel clean," she said. "I don’t feel clean.” 

She walked back down to the water, and pulled off a chunk of bun weighing it in her hand “Al cheyt shehecatanu l'fanecha, for the sins we have committed before you both willingly and unwillingly-”

Thea leaned into Oliver confused. “What’s she doing?” she asked in whisper.

“It’s, um, ah,” Oliver blinked lost for a moment before he whispered back, “the confession, the ritual confession of Yom Kippur. 

“For the sins I have committed by being arrogant, and thinking I was faster than a ballistic missile,” Felicity threw the chunk of bread into the water, and tore another chunk off the burger.

“For the sins of hiding and being a coward and asking for forgiveness instead of just going to jail to like I should.” She wound up her arm and threw the hunk of burger as far out into the water as she could. There was a catch in her voice. She ripped at the sandwich viciously.

“For the sin of not knowing all their names.” She threw and ripped. She sounded desperate and angry. 

“I should know all the names.” She threw and ripped again. Her breathing was ragged. A limp leaf of lettuce hung pathetically from her wrist. “Of all the people who died.” 

Pickle and tomato juice quivered on the ends of her fingers. “Of the all people,” Felicity flung everything, “I killed.” 

There wasn’t any burger left. Her hands were shiny with grease. She looked at them. He mouth twisting with disgust. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she sniffled loudly. 

“That’s it. I confess. That’s all of it. For all of these sins, Eloha slihot, forgive me. Please.” She wiped at her nose with the edge of her thumb. She pressing in the inside of her wrist to her mouth. She gasped, trying to pull in air. When she exhaled, it was all sobs. The choking gurgling sound of grief. Her face was blotchy and red. She dropped her hands and leaned forward, screaming out inarticulately over the water in frustration. “Aaahrrghaahh!!!!”

Oliver slipped a hand onto her shoulder. He’d been creeping up slowly. Not quite sure how to approach, but absolutely certain that he should reach out to her. 

She spun at his touch and pressed her face into his shirt, wrapping her grimy hands around him. He cupped the back of her head and tried to sooth her, mumbling comfort into the top of her head. She sobbed wet, snotty, open mouth sobs into his chest. 

It was the cleanest, purest, moment they’d had all summer.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Oliver murmured. “We’re in this together.” He looked at Thea who nodded. “We’re all in this together.”

“Oliver, I-” Felicity said pulling back to look at him. They locked eyes and her lower lip quivered. She didn’t manage to get any other words out.

Oliver wrapped his hands around her cheeks, sliding his fingers around her ears and into her hair.

“Listen to me, Felicity. You are a good person. You aren’t a murderer. Dahrk is the murderer. I know murderers and you aren’t one.” 

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her face. In the way her eyes sagged and her jaw clicked in his palms. He pulled her to his chest again. Dropping his arms around her shoulders so that he could squeeze her tightly.

“I can I hold onto that for both of us. I can believe in you, until you’re ready to believe in yourself again. ”

The sun dropped below the tree line and it was suddenly dark all around them. The last of the season's fireflies blinked along the shoreline. Felicity’s breathing became softer as she clung to Oliver, but it was still ragged. Thea watched in silence. 

The first three stars appeared in the sky.

The faint sound of chanting from the service across the street floated down to them. The services was almost over. Oliver realized that Felicity was holding her breath. He knew what she was waiting for. 

The shofar is a horn. It’s a real horn, from a rams head, but it's a horn that you blow into to make a sound. A trumpet with only one note. Thea looked up toward the echoing call when it started. It’s not a common noise, but it’s vaguely musical, and vaguely familiar even if you’ve never heard it before. _Tekkiiaah_

Felicity closed her eyes and relaxed slightly.

“You made it to the end of the day,” Oliver said. “Without cheating.”

“I did,” Felicity agreed.

The street lamps in the park flicked on and John shuffled out of the shadow line of the trees. He was laid down with white carryout bags and pizza boxes. 

“Oh my god, I am so hungry!” Felicity said as the warm smell of pizza hit them. She wiped her nose on her hand again. “And that was not taking the lord’s name in vain. That was real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tashlich:** is a ritual that many Jews observe during Rosh HaShanah. "Tashlich" means "casting off" in Hebrew and involves symbolically casting off the sins of the previous year by tossing pieces of bread or another food into a body of flowing water.  
>  **Passover:** the major Jewish spring festival that commemorates the liberation of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery, lasting seven or eight days from the 15th day of Nisan. One of the main rituals is eating only unleavened bread.  
>  **Al cheyt shehecatanu l'fanecha:** For the sins we have committed before you.  
>  **Eloha slihot:** God of Forgiveness.


	16. Would You Like to Come Up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity have a few things to talk about at the end of the day.
> 
> Unlike, everything up to now, this chapter is not canon-compliant.

They ate on the ground in the grass. Oliver held Felicity’s hand. She leaned against him. When the food was gone. Thea suggested that Oliver take Felicity home, while she and Digg cleaned up. Digg agreed, but he gave Thea _a look._ Thea looked back and him seriously, and Oliver sighed. Of course they were going to talk. John needed to know what he'd missed and neither Oliver or Felicity were up to debrief him.

“We should take your car,” Oliver said to Felicity. “All I have is the bike.”

“Okay,” she agreed. 

The ride was quiet. It wasn't uncomfortable or tense or full of unsaid things. At least not for Oliver. Felicity stared out the window, doodling with her finger on the glass.

“I’d like to walk you up,” he said when they parked. “It doesn’t seem like the drug is still affecting you but, you know, it’s been a long day.”

Felicity looked at him and swallowed. She looked nervous.

“I don’t have to.”

“No! I mean,” Felicity closed her eyes and calmed down. “Yes. Please. I’d like that.”

He wanted to hold her hand in the elevator. He wanted to wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze comfortingly. He didn’t. He kept his distance and walked her to her door. He leaned against the door frame and scanned the hall behind them as she set her key in the lock.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked. 

It was a whisper. She didn’t look at him and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard her right. Except his whole body was suddenly electrified. He took a deep steadying breath.

“I don’t need anything, Felicity,” he said. “I believe in you because I’m your friend. That’s enough.”

She looked up at him, catching his eyes and holding them. She wiggled her nose slightly, realigning her glasses. It was an unconscious thing. It made her look a bit like a rabbit sometimes, and it was completely adorable.

“I want you to come in,” she said 

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat. He nodded. He didn’t have any more words. 

He followed her into her apartment. Their apartment. The space where they had been a couple and lived together. This morning it hadn't felt like this. This morning it had just been a space he didn't really belong in. Felicity took off her coat and draped it over the back of the couch.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, kicking off her shoes. “I know it’s late but I’m still catching up to my normal level.”

“I’d like that.” 

She smiled at him, a shy vulnerable smile. Then she turned and walked into the kitchen.

Oliver gulped. Should he take off his jacket? It was just coffee. He shouldn’t assume that anything was going to happen. Even if it did start to happen, he should say no. She was vulnerable right now and he didn’t want to take advantage of her. 

Felicity poked her head back out at him.

“You know you might as well get comfortable. We both know you're going to be here all night and I’d prefer you sleeping on the couch to staring at me from the fire escape.”

Oliver blushed and took off his coat. This was embarrassing. He put his coat on the back of the couch right on top of hers. He looked at it and picked it up again. He hung it over the stair railing. That didn’t work either. He remembered there was a hook on near the door. He put the coat there. He finally had it hung up just as she came out of the kitchen with two mugs. 

She handed him one.

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Couch?” 

“Sure.”

She led and he followed. They sat on their usual sides. He didn’t even remember they had usual sides. Not until they were sitting and it felt familiar and right. She was supposed to put her feet into his lap next. But she didn’t. She tucked them underneath herself instead. He sipped at the top of his coffee. He didn’t have any right to be disappointed.

Felicity took a deep bracing breath. “So part of what I have to do this Yom Kippur is apologize to everyone that I've wronged in the last year. And there is one apology that I have been avoiding, and this is obviously the moment to handle it.”

“Felicity, you don’t owe me-”

“Oliver let me get through this, okay! I need to do it.”

“Okay”

He went silent. The silence stretched. She fidgeted. She sighed. She sipped her coffee. She took another bracing breath and tried to start again. 

“Oliver, I need to tell you-” She looked at him and froze. He waited. She blinked.

“Okay now I’m terrified, whatever it is just spit it out,” he was trying to sound light and amused. The truth was that he might have a panic attack if she didn’t just say whatever it was she was trying to say.

“I can have kids,” Felicity said in a rush. “The spinal surgeon cleared me last week.”

Oliver blinked confused, his brow wrinkling. “What? I don’t understand. What happened last week?”

She leaned forward and put her cup on the coffee table, unwinding from the little ball she’d been tucked into. “You know I wasn’t even sure that I wanted kids, ever, until they told me that I might not be able to have them.” 

“I read your charts.” He didn’t know what she was talking about. There was never any mention of fertility issues in her medical charts.

“You were fighting Darhk so I scrubbed them.” She waved her hand through the air as if this was a small thing. A nothing. “Kids weren’t the only thing I took out, it was just…” She looked at him, and her words disappeared. She pushed her glasses back up her nose tentatively.

He didn’t know what expression was on his face. Whatever it was, it had squashed the words right out of her. 

She bit her lip nervously, “I wasn’t completely rational. And I was on some serious pain killers, at the time.”

After all the lectures she had given him on lying, and choices, and over-protectiveness!

“Felicity,...” Oliver said putting his cup on the table. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know how to start. She’d scrubbed her medical charts?

“I wasn’t rational about William either,” she said. 

It felt like he lungs were crumbling. 

Felicity kept going. “When you said you couldn't know him, that you couldn't be in his life, well that was a choice about my future too. I had just realized, for the first time, ever, in my life, that I actually _do_ want to be a mom someday, even if I have a bullet in my spine. And you were deciding that you could never be a father. We didn't talk about it. It was a choice you made without me....” She looked at him. Her eyes were wet with again. “That's irreconcilable,” she said with a sad shrug. 

How was this happening again. Wasn’t one break up enough? Wasn’t this supposed to be an apology? 

“It wasn't a place to start a marriage,” she spoke a with a fake light hearted-ness. 

He stared at her agape. She gulped. He swallowed down a few strong emotions himself. 

She wet her lips, and started speaking again, carefully and slowly. “I don’t regret that we broke up, Oliver. But I made it sound like it was all your fault and it wasn’t. We were just,” she offered her hand to the room, “making opposite choices about what we wanted from our lives. I was angry. At you. At the world. At everything that was taking away my choices. And I talk a lot, but you know,” she smiled wanly, “I’m not always the best with words.”

She dropped her hands into her lap and looked at them. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She looked up and locked eyes with him. “Which is all to say, I’m sorry. Can you accept my apology?” 

He turned away from her and ran his hands over his head, rubbing his scalp and the back of his neck. He felt like he’d been kicked in the teeth. He cupped his hands over his mouth and huffed out into them. 

“What else did you scrub?” he asked. “What did you take out of the medical files?”

“Does it matter now?”

“Yes. Yes, it god-damned matters.”

She looked at him annoyed, nostrils flaring. “The bullet took out a chunk of my womb, and that's healed. And I lost my right kidney.”

Oliver shift on the couch, turning to face her again. He was furious. 

“One kidney is fine,” she said. “People donate kidneys and live with just one all the time!”

“That’s not the point.”

“Don’t growl at me!”

“I’m not growling.”

“Yes you are!”

She pivoted around, too, turning so she was face to face with him. They were less than a foot apart. 

"What happened to leaning into each other when things get hard or complicated?" he ground out the words.

"I didn't hide the wheelchair."

"And the rest?"

"It didn't seem important. I thought we were on the same page."

"Not. Important."

“You couldn't visit me in the hospital for days!” she said leaning into his space, the words tumbling out as her careful reserve broke. “So I put on the brave face to protect you. It's not like I joined the League of Assassins. I didn't even do a good job. These are all pretty basic co-morbids with a spinal injury and I get asked about them at just about every appointment. You've made plans to _die_ without talking to me. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but it isn't enough, because you hide what matters most to you. Even from me. I never did that! I tried to tell you. I just didn't have the best words.”

He kissed her. 

He leaned the last few inches forward and pulled her bottom lip into his mouth. He shifted his weight and pushed over her, toppling her backwards onto the couch. He let his bulk press down on her pinning her in place.

She squeaked, and then she froze.

Oliver felt her stiffen. He felt her legs tense under his thighs. He felt the curve between her hips and rib cage felx in response to his weight. He felt the the change in moisture on her lips when she started holding her breath. He pushed back up on his elbows and looked down at her. 

She blinked. Her glasses were sitting askew on her face. She reached up and straightened them.

“It hurts not to be with you,” he said. “You want my truth. That’s it."

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he was expecting a reaction. She didn’t say anything. She just laid there, very quiet, and very still, looking up at him.

He’d made a mistake.

He forced his body to pull back, to sit up on his side of the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said. Now it was his turn to make a bad attempt at lightening the mood. “Sometimes I’m not that good with words either. I’ll call Thea. She can come over to watch you tonight.”

He stood up to leave, wiping his hands on his pants nervously. 

“Oh screw that!” Felicity said. 

Then she was standing on the couch wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. He clutched at her. Spread his palm wide against her back and grabbed at her thigh. He pulled her knee up over his hip. She wrapped the one leg around him, and then with a grunt and a hop, she brought the other one up, too. He caught her. One hand under her ass and the other squeezed even tighter around her rib cage. 

“Upstairs” she said, pulling on his earlobe. “Now.”

His body knew the way. He could have carried her up the steps with his eyes closed. She nipped at his neck though, in the exact way she knew drove him wild, and he had to stop halfway up and press her against the wall. He had to run his teeth and tongue over her collarbone. He had to feel her squirm and gasp against him. He needed to hear that little gasp of joy that was her’s. The sound she only made for him.

“Oh!” she panted, and tossed her head back against the wall. “Oliver…” she moaned, scratching at his back.

He pulled back and looked at her. “If this happens, Felicity... It happens.” He was panting a bit himself. “We can’t put it back into the box. Not this time. I won't.”

She gulped. “I-” she searched his face. She took a deep ragged breath and spoke slowly. “It hurts not to be with you, Oliver," she said carefully. "I think of things to say, or I say things and I check if they made you smile, then I remember that I’m not supposed to care, and it...hurts.” He could see her pulse throbbing in her throat. "I want to be with you. But I also want the life with kids and dogs and picket fences, maybe not today, but I want it. You don't."

He leaned in and kissed her again. Softer this time. Then he ran his lips over her jaw and down the front of her throat. He could feel her racing heart beat against his kiss. 

"Two dogs, tops."

"This is serious Oliver."

"You're right. It's not a decision I should make without talking to you first."

He picked her up again and carried up the last of the stairs to _their_ bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> So, how did you like it?
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on tumblr too.


End file.
